“You think otherwise.”
Claire was quiet for a moment while silverware and glasses clinked and the conversation murmured around them. “She just might be the most vulnerable person I know, with the biggest heart. Even that bold, brave girl in first grade had a soft spot for someone she perceived as weaker than she was.”
If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up falling very, very hard for that particular bold, brave girl. The same girl who couldn’t seem to go five minutes without telling him all the reasons they couldn’t be together.
To avoid spending too much time thinking about that depressing reality, he said, “I understand you’re the person I need to talk to about volunteering to help out with the Giving Hope Day in a few weeks.”
The change of subject worked just as he hoped. Claire’s soft, pretty features lit up. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Oh, can I put a man with your skills to work!”
She launched into an explanation of some of the projects on tap that year while the efficient servers cleared away dessert. He listened to her with half an ear while he tried to puzzle out the mystery of Alexandra and his growing feelings for her.
She was the only woman who had evoked even a glimmer of interest in him since Kelli died. If his interest were only a glimmer, he could deal, but this was becoming a tidal wave of hunger and, yes, tenderness.
He was beginning to care deeply for her. Meanwhile, she sent him sweet little notes to make him smile and she kissed him with her whole heart, all while insisting they couldn’t have a relationship.
What was a guy supposed to do with that?
He had a few ideas—and a few plans—but he was very much afraid he was spinning his wheels. Stubbornness was another of her traits.
He sipped at his wine, wondering why it suddenly had an edge of bitterness to it.
* * *
THE DIGITAL READOUT on her dashboard clock read one-fifteen when she finally drove down Currant Creek Valley Road toward home.
Her neighbors slept, their lights out and their window shades closed against the beauty of the May night. They were missing this perfect night, she thought.
How long had she been a night owl? Forever, maybe. Even when she was a kid, she remembered waking up in the room she shared with Maura and sneaking downstairs to watch a scary movie on TV at a rare time when she didn’t have to share the remote and the viewing choices with five siblings.
Her mom used to say she couldn’t sleep because she was too afraid she was going to miss something.
That had been another thing she had shared with her father. No matter how low she turned the television set, even when she was sitting right in front of it with the sound almost off, he would still sometimes hear and come downstairs in his plaid pajamas.
He never yelled at her to go to bed, even on school nights. Sometimes he would pop a batch of popcorn or she would come up with some kind of elaborate snack and they would nosh while they watched the end.
Riley or Maura would sometimes join them but Maura always preferred having a book in her hand to watching television and Ri often fell asleep midmovie, something he still tended to do.
Maybe that’s why she loved this quiet time, when most of the world slept. It reminded her of a happy period in her childhood when she felt important and cherished and safe.
She pulled up in front of her house and sat for a moment with the windows still rolled down and the engine off. A genuine night owl hooted as she climbed out of her car. The sound slid around and through her, leaving her strangely restless.
This was supposed to be the most triumphant moment of her life. Opening night of her own restaurant, after all these years, an evening she had shared with nearly all of those she loved most in the world, all but the twins, Lila and Rose.
Opening night had gone better than she could have dreamed, even with the inevitable kitchen dramas. For starters, she had ordered too few napkins from the linen service. They had ended up—horrors!—having to use paper for the last four tabletops.
And then her two sous-chefs had almost come to blows over a mushroom soup that had charred on the bottom.
To top it all off, one of the servers had chosen that very afternoon, of all possible days, to break up with a troublesome boyfriend and had consequently spent the evening alternating between tears and a giddy relief.
Despite everything, she knew the evening had gone well. The rave reviews alone weren’t enough to convince her. Her family and friends loved her and probably would have raved if she had served them up mac and cheese from a box.
But she had worked in enough fine restaurants to pick up the vibe when diners were very happy with what they were eating.
Judging by the reaction, she sensed Brazen was on its way.
Where was the huge burst of joy she had expected? Expected and earned, damn it. She had just conquered a summit she had been struggling toward for most of her adult life. She should be euphoric, effervescent. Instead, she felt...oddly deflated.